In the spring of 1874 James
Geikie returned from Edinburgh to the Cheviot region. Before starting his
field-work he made a brief visit to the Continent, in regard to which his
diary only contains records of dates and places. The motive of the visit is
of interest as throwing light on his strong family feeling. At his
instigation his youngest sister had gone to Germany to improve herself in
the language. On arriving in the place arranged, however, she found herself
very uncomfortable and unhappy, and informed her brother of the fact. With
characteristic energy "he set off at once, met his sister, arranged for her
transference to more congenial surroundings, and in a little more than a
week was back to work again.

Shortly afterwards he went
off to Jedburgh to take up again his survey in the Cheviots. Here he made
many friends, and during his stay in the region acquired an intense love for
the scenery of the hills, whose long gentle slopes and soft melancholy
always appealed to him more than the stern grandeur of the Highlands. This
feeling was perhaps not wholly aesthetic, however, for the district soon
acquired associations for him which are briefly hinted at in the diary for
the year. This—of somewhat unusual form—is adorned, oddly enough, with a
portrait of John Stuart Mill as frontispiece. The philosopher's serious,
intellectual countenance has, it is to be feared in derision, been decorated
by the owner of the diary with a long pipe. It would indeed be difficult to
imagine two men of more different type; for James Geikie, the utilitarian's
long years of waiting and longing would have been as intolerable as the
brief fever of the last days.

The entries in the diary are
as usual short in the extreme, but under 12th August, which it is carefully
noted was a wet day, the diarist was at a picnic in the Cheviots. He adds
the word "lost"? to the laconic entry. Later entries record calls made to
Crailing Hall with brief comments. About this time James Geikie was writing
to his friend Mr Home, saying :—" John Home—come to the Cheviots. . . . I'll
do what I can in the way of introductions." Much of the letter is occupied
with geological matters, and the writer goes on to express a hope that he
won't be asked to give a course of lectures to working-men during the coming
winter:—"I want all my time for literary work this winter, seeing that I
have agreed to write two books—one for a London house, the other for an
Edinburgh one. Besides, I have at last made up my mind to go and get
married, and as soon as I come across a likely girl, will lose no time in
taking the grand header. I hope never to see another autumn as a bachelor.
So what with hunting libraries for notes, and hunting up families for a nice
wife, I have my winter's work laid out before me."

It will appear from this
letter that James Geikie did not keep his heart on his sleeve. The letter is
not perhaps wholly candid, but candour was doubtless not to be expected at
such a time.

A few details may be added to
make the story clear. None of the towns or hamlets at the foot of the
Cheviots was near enough to form a good centre of work, and the region being
given up to large sheep farms, habitations of any kind among the hills are
few and scattered. Among James Geikie's acquaintances in the Jedburgh
district was Mr Simson, Oxnam Row, to whose farm on the lower slopes were
added the hill grazings higher up the Kale Water. Here, right among the
hills, was the old farmhouse of Buchtrig, in the occupation of a shepherd
and his wife, but with some rooms so furnished as to permit of the family
making occasional visits to the region. Through Mr Simson James Geikie was
able to arrange for accommodation here in the early spring of 1874 to
facilitate his work. A few notes of his visit 'are left in his own
handwriting, in what he styles a "Copy of a Fragment of some very ancient
Manuscript." This opens as follows:—

It happened once upon a time
that a certain youth, who dreamed strange dreams and wandered about the
hill-tops and sojourned in lonely places, came unto a lonely dwelling among
the mountains and there abode for many days. And an old woman ministered
unto his wants with fear and trembling, for she looked upon him as one that
was beside himself. "Verily," said she unto herself, "he looketh for some
hidden treasure, and is a magician who smiteth the rocks with a hammer and
writeth strange incantations and evil words in a book." And she looked, and
behold he brought with him from the mountains pieces of stone which he
treasured and laid in safe places. . . . Now after many days the old woman,
who was called Katie, put away her fear, for the young man seemed not to
hold communication with the Evil One, neither was the smell of brimstone
perceived in the place. And so she showed him much kindness, and baked cakes
of flour upon the girdle and brought these to him, and eggs, yea, and much
fine butter.

In the early summer of the
same year James Geikie went for his holiday to Skye and Lewis. Not long
after his return he was invited to the picnic already mentioned, which,
owing to the weather, was adjourned to Buchtrig farmhouse. The picnic was
given by Mr Simson, and included his sister, Mrs Johnston, Crailing Hall,
and her three daughters, with two of whom James Geikie was already
acquainted. The MS. may be allowed to take up the story at this point:—

And so the days passed away,
and the young man went into a far country, yea unto the furthermost isles of
the sea. But in the fullness of time he returned, and found the place which
had been a desert now filled with the hum of voices and laughter of damsels.
And he looked, and behold there were chariots and a wagon filled with good
things. And he entered into the house where he had sojourned aforetime, and
lo! a fair damsel met him and bade him welcome. And she said unto him,
"Enter now, and embrace my sisters and my mother, yea and my mother's
brother's wife and her daughter." And it was so. And when the young man
entered into an upper room, behold a maiden stood near the window. . . . And
his eyes followed her whithersoever she went—and he spoke unto her presently
as one speaketh unto an old friend. And the sound of her voice was like the
music of the birds in spring, and the heart of the young man began to sing a
new song. Listen and ye shall hear what the young man sang: Here ends the
Manuscript.

This happened in August, and
before Christmas James Geikie was engaged to Mary, youngest daughter of Mr
Johnston, Crailing Hall, to whom he was married on 8th July 1875.

But in addition to what we
may call the major associations with the Cheviot region due to these
incidents, he had many minor ones of a pleasurable nature. He came into
contact with all sorts of people in the course of his wanderings, and in
that sparsely peopled district it was easy to make acquaintances. Among his
temporary dwelling-places in the hills was the little inn, called Carter
Bar, which then stood on the slopes of Carter Fell, and was but little more
than a rest-house for drovers going over the border into England with their
sheep. On one stormy day in spring James Geikie was returning to this poor
shelter over the moor, when he encountered an old lady, somewhat oddly
dressed, drenched with rain, and struggling against the wind. He went to her
assistance, and she was glad to accept the offer of his arm to help her back
to the inn. Here she borrowed dry garments from the hostess, and sat and
talked over the fire with her new-found friend, who found her full of Border
lore, while he no doubt contributed his full share to the conversation.
Eventually, her own garments being dry, and she herself refreshed, the old
lady drove off in a waiting carriage, urging James Geikie to come to see
her. She proved to be Lady John Scott, a well-known Border personage, famous
for her antiquarian tastes, her Scotch songs, and her great individuality of
character.

Another similar meeting which
led to a long friendship, though it took place several years later, may
fitly find a place here. This was with Sir George Douglas, of Springwood
Park, Kelso, the author of The New Border Tales, Poems, and a number of
other works, many referring to the Border region. Sir George has kindly
supplied the following notes upon the subject:—

I owed my acquaintance with
the late Prof. Geikie to a chance meeting. Starting on a solitary
walking-tour, in the summer vacation of the year 1878, I called at the
Collingwood Arms, Cornhill, for tea, and found him there. He was not yet
professor at that date, but was a member of H.M. Geological Survey, the work
of which had brought him to Cornhill, where he was waiting for a train to
Tweedmouth. He was then in the early prime of manhood, and his work being of
a more active nature and taking him more into the open air, the cheery
vigour which at all times characterised him was more pleasantly noticeable
than ever. I remember that his beard, which he afterwards wore
close-cropped, at that time descended over his chest and was of a golden
colour. I believe that we began by talking of inns, for I remember that he
poked some good-natured fun at the commercial travellers of those days ("
bagmen," as he perversely preferred to call them), and told me two or three
amusing stories of experiences with them. But, ere long, we were talking of
literature, and especially of poetry—the poetry of the day. Here was a
delight for me! I was at the poetry-reading age, and had just left
Cambridge, where I had primed myself with Swinburne, William Morris, the
Rossettis—that is, with such of their works as had at that date appeared;
and not only with these, but with such poems as the "Angel in the House,"
"White Rose and Red," "The Human Tragedy": the works of lesser masters, then
on their probation, and now, it may be, seldom heard of. Well, here in a
wayside inn at the extremity of Northumberland, I had chanced upon an
unknown traveller who had all these authors and books, so to speak, at his
fingers' ends. One would have liked, at that age, to pose him, to make some
pedantical allusion, as to a matter of common knowledge, to something of
which he had not happened to hear. But it was vain to hope to go beyond him.
And, if we were fairly evenly matched in our discussion, it must be borne in
mind that I was, as it were, staking my all in it, whilst he was merely
gambling with his small change. For of course he never professed literature,
but merely turned to it for a change of idea in hours that were not occupied
by science. What was really remarkable in this conversation, I should say,
was the readiness and whole-heartedness with which he threw himself into it,
the stimulus given by his never-failing interest and occasional enthusiasm,
the fine good-nature with which he unquestioningly put himself on equal
terms with one who was many years younger than himself, and whose opinions,
however confidently expressed, must often have been crude and immature.
Neither then, nor at any subsequent time, was there anything whatever that
was pedantic or academic about Geikie. When I met him next, I was
approaching the middle term of life, but the recollection of that single
conversation suffices to make quite clear to me the power which he wielded
over his students and the popularity which he enjoyed among them. I doubt if
the very best that was in him really made itself felt upon the
lecture-platform. It was in the give-and-take of life —in his Saturday
geological tramps and other more informal relations with his students, if I
may hazard a guess—that the man really stood revealed. He could impart life
and glow to his subject, as perhaps few can. But he did so best, if I may
pretend to judge, when he was talking rather than lecturing.

I had evidence of this later.
On parting after our two or three hours' talk at Cornhill, we had exchanged
cards, and when I heard that, in order to be near Mrs Geikie's relations, he
was renting Kalemouth on Teviot, four or five miles from my house, during
one summer vacation, I hastened to renew acquaintance with him. Since our
former meeting ten or twelve years had passed, and though it had remained
delightfully memorable to me, I did not presume to suppose that he would
remember it, nor was any allusion made to it. Being such near neighbours
throughout that summer we met often, and it was then that I really got to
know the character and qualities which had been merely suggested at
Cornhill. From the geological point of view, Prof. Geikie knew the
Borderland as no one else knew it; but he had also a remarkable knowledge,
not only of its scenery, history, and tradition, but also of its people,
collectively and individually; and this gave us a strong interest in common.

Some other moorland
experiences were of a more humorous nature. Thus one Sunday night he was
walking back from Crailing Hall to his lodgings at Morebattle, and came in
the dusk past the hamlet of Cess ford. He was carrying a small handbag, and
as he passed the cottages a woman ran out and called out in a loud
whisper:—"Man, man, can ye gie me half a pound o' tea ?" She had mistaken
him for a pedlar, perhaps not unwilling to earn an ungodly penny. The
situation appealed strongly to his sense of humour, and he rated the woman
severely for tempting an honest man on the "Sawbath" day, and told her to go
home and make porridge. For him the jest was doubtless seasoned by the fact
that rigid "Sabbath-keeping" did not appeal to his tastes, and ,that he was
an inveterate tea-drinker—making up for enforced abstinence while out on the
hills by copious draughts at night. Thus to bring down, as it were, two
birds with one stone—the rigid Sabbatarians, and those who trace the
degeneracy of the Scottish people to the substitution of tea for the
ancestral porridge—must have been a real joy to him. The occasion perhaps
permits of the comment that though a Scotsman, he was a Scotsman with a
difference, and had wandered too far, alike in mind and in body, to have any
intense attachment to the pattern of the parish pump.

The spring of 1875, which saw
him still working in the Cheviots, brought him his first great honour—the
fellowship of the Royal Society of London. A note, undated, written from
Morebattle to his future wife, immediately after he had received the news,
is full of justifiable pride and joy:—"I suppose I am the youngest F.R.S. on
the roll . . . you will believe me, I know, when I say that I am pleased as
much for your sake as my own, that my work is recognised. It is no small
honour to be elected F.R.S. out of 57 candidates for the 15 vacancies."

The note encloses two
letters, one from his old friend and honoured chief, Prof. Ramsay, saying:—

"You came in triumphantly
yesterday for the Royal Society, having the largest number of votes of any
candidate," and another from Mr H. W. Bristow, the Director of the
Geological Survey of England and Wales, which shows clearly with what
friendly feeling James Geikie was regarded by his English colleagues:—

28 Jermyn St., S.W., 17th April
1875.

My dear James Geikie,—It
gladdens my heart as one of your "Royal" sponsors, to congratulate you upon
your election into the Society, which I hope you may live long to adorn.
Etheridgel is also very full of rejoicing, and I only regret that the
earliest announcement of the glad tidings did not reach you from one of
us.—Believe me, your faithful confrere,

H. W. Bristow.

As the Survey work in the
Cheviot region was finished in the year that James Geikie married, his
friend Prof. Ramsay so arranged matters that it was possible for him to take
a house at Perth, which remained his headquarters for six years after his
marriage, that is until he went to Edinburgh to take the Chair of Geology.

At Perth Mr and Mrs Geikie
made many friends, and the former threw himself actively into the life of
the place, taking especially a great interest in the Perthshire Society of
Natural Science, of which he became president later. This brought him into
contact with Sir Thomas Moncrieffe, also at one time president of the
Society ; Mr Andrew Coates, who took a very great interest in the
establishment of the excellent Perth Museum ; Dr Buchanan White, and others.
James Geikie also gave courses of lectures to ladies on geology during his
stay in Perth, and generally did not a little to stimulate an interest in
natural science in the town.

The year 1876 was a very full
one. In spring he paid a short visit to Norfolk and Suffolk to study some
interesting glacial results which his colleague Mr Skertchly had obtained
there. At the same time he was working at The Great Ice Age, which had done
so well that a second edition was required. Under date 27th June he writes
to Mr Home:— "My new edition will be out, I expect, in October— the first of
the season! It is in the printers' hands now, and we are settling about the
size of page and type. Printed the same size of type as last, the volume
would be 900 pages, which shows that I have made some additions!"

At the beginning of July
Prof. Ramsay wrote to ask him if he would be willing to go to Gibraltar to
assist in an investigation of the water-supply there, the work to count as a
piece of Survey duty. The invitation was promptly accepted, and on nth
September James Geikie left Perth on his long journey to the South. He
stopped a couple of days in London, and did not finally reach Gibraltar till
19th September. Here he remained till 25th October, much longer than he had
expected, and in addition to doing a large amount of geological work, in
what both he and Prof. Ramsay found most oppressive heat, received much
kindness and hospitality from the civil and military officials, and made
many interesting excursions. It was apparently the first time he had seen
subtropical vegetation, and his letters to his wife are filled with accounts
of all he saw, written in a spirit of almost boyish glee, and accompanied by
much groaning over the heat, and the resultant thirst. Even bathing afforded
little refreshment, for he says ruefully:—"Even in the water one has much
the feeling that a herring must have when it is newly put into a pot upon
the fire. All the springs," he adds, "yield half-warm water—everything
indeed is baked, blistered, and boiled.":

The abundant hospitality,
delightful though it was, naturally took up much time, the hosts perhaps not
fully realising that the two geologists had a fairly heavy piece of work on
hand, and James Geikie complains that it was difficult even to find time to
write letters to his wife, in the midst of the ceaseless round of work and
pleasure. An interesting fact, which he does not fail to record, is that at
a Mess dinner at which he and Prof. Ramsay were the guests of honour, the
military band played Scotch music in compliment to their nationality, and
among the airs James Geikie recognised a selection arranged by his father
for a Scotch regiment many years before.

Among the excursions was
included one to the African coast, where the two made a short stay in
Tangier: the diary, with characteristic orderliness, records the purchases
made here for the people at home. But in addition to making these, the two
found time to study the geology of the coast between Ceuta and Cape Spartel.

A letter to Mr Home, written
from Perth on 18th November, not long after his return home, makes some
mention of the tour, and of the other events of a crowded summer.

I heard all about your
Shetland work. It did my heart good, and right glad I am that it has been
done by a Survey man. . . . You would hear about Skertchly's find. I was
down there again ten days ago at Ramsay's request, to see the evidence
again. . . . In my new edition, which is out (and selling well!), I go much
more fully into the English Drifts. I got to-day a long letter from Darwin,
along with a copy of his new edition of Geological Observatiotis. His letter
is very complimentary, and of course that is gratifying to me, for I look
upon Darwin as a real genius.

I enjoyed my Gibraltar trip
very much. Ramsay was very jolly and in excellent spirits all the time. We
did have some fun, I can tell you. Also we crossed over to Africa and had a
run amongst the Moors. The result of our Survey was so far satisfactory as
it enables us to say very positively what is best to be done in the matter
of the water-supply.

There are two letters from
Darwin about this date. One has been already quoted (p. 27). In the other,
which is taken up largely with a geological discussion, he says:—"Allow me
to tell you with what extreme pleasure and admiration I have just finished
reading your Great Ice Age. It seems to me admirably done and most clear.
Interesting as many chapters are in the history of the world, I do not think
that any one comes nearly to the glacial period or periods. Though I have
steadily read much on the subject, your book makes the whole appear almost
new to me."

In this month of November
also another sign of appreciation of his work reached James Geikie in the
offer by the University of St Andrews of its LL.D. degree, which was
conferred the following year. About the same time he was approached
informally to know whether he would care to have a knighthood. This was at
this date a much rarer honour than it became later, and the young couple
decided that their income was not large enough to support it. Very many
years later, after his retirement, James Geikie's friends again urged his
claims to the title, but the matter was dropped at the outbreak of the war,
and death came not long after.

Other letters of the same
autumn refer to the "Ice Age," and to the report upon the Gibraltar work. In
addition to the Memoir upon the question of the water-supply, a general
article on the geology of the region was contributed to the Quarterly
Journal of the Geological Society. Rather curiously, even at Gibraltar
Geikie found evidence of use to him in connection with his glacial work.

In the early spring of 1877
his eldest son was born, and the summer saw him wandering about the
Hebrides, of which he sends so racy a description to his wife that large
extracts from the letters may be given:—

Obbe, Harris, 7th July 1877.

This is written out on the
hill-side—I will tell you „ why presently. Yesterday we walked from Tarbert,
twenty-three miles, by a wild and lonely track-road, through a desolate and
dreary region—nothing but bare rock, and a little heather and grass growing
in rocks and crevices. It was all very interesting to me, however, as every
square yard of rock was marked and scored and smoothed by the great
ice-sheet that flowed out from the mainland. We took our time by the way,
making notes and sketches. Every now and then we passed standing stones and
ruins of Picts houses. At each bend in the track there were always two or
three cairns of stones, which mark the spots where coffins have been rested.
When the Harris folk bury anyone they have to carry the body often for many
miles, as there is only one burial-place for the island. The poor people
must rest by the way, therefore, for refreshment. Much whisky and kebbocks
of cheese and scones go down, and then they raise a cairn to mark the spot.
We met no one all the way for fourteen miles. . . . The road wound along the
sea coast, across which we had lovely views to the islets that dot the
horizon. You have no idea of the lovely shades of blue and green and saffron
and orange and gold that streak and flush the sea—the water is so clear and
crystalline, too, that one feels as if he should like to throw his knapsack
down and take a header! There are few or no houses. We passed the ruins of
several villages, but the poor people were driven out some forty years ago,
and most of them emigrated to Canada. I believe they were very unwilling to
clear out, and the soldiers had to be marched upon them. It is very sad to
see their poor huts, all roofless, and grass and nettles growing over them.
As we had much to look at on the road it was nearly ten o'clock. before we
came to Obbe, and we passed the inn—not knowing it. Losh keep us a', what an
inn! It was a mere hut—just like that used by the " natives." There are only
two rooms—a kitchen and a double-bedded room. The peat-reek circulates
freely through the whole cottage, and the walls are mouldy and damp. We had
a peat fire in our room, and did what we could to make ourselves jolly. But
salt ham is not good to feed on after a long walk. However, we were
satisfied, and after a while got to bed.

To-day we started to climb
Roneval, the highest mountain in South Harris. It has been polished by ice
all over, a splendid confirmation of what I had already described in my
book. What a magnificent view I had from the top! Far away to the west was
St Kilda and the little island of Berneray. Southwards stretched the various
islands of the Outer Hebrides—North Uist, Benbecula, South Uist, and Barra.
How plainly seen they all were—high mountains with broad plains at their
feet, over which were dotted lakes innumerable. In the east, Skye with its
wonderful Coolins lay spread out before us; and north of Skye I could see
our old friend Ben Slioch, and the mountains of Loch Maree and Loch Torridon.
Harris, of course, lay under our feet: and you can form no idea of its
sterile desolation. Endless round-backed hills and rocks, scraped bare of
any soil, and supporting hardly a vestige of vegetation; great rocky
mountains, smoothed and polished all over and equally bare and desolate,
with blue lakelets scattered in hundreds among the hollows and depressions
of the land—such is the appearance of Harris. Then there lay the great blue
sea shining like sapphire in the sun, and flecked with tiny sails where the
fishermen are busy at their calling.—I began this letter outside to escape
the peat-reek, but the midges have driven me in again!

LOCHMADDY, NORTH UlST,
Tuesday, 10th July 1877.

We got here yesterday, after
a long and very tedious sail in an open boat. With a good wind we should
have crossed the Sound of Harris in two hours—instead of which we were nine
hours. We kept dodging about from islet to islet, sighing for a breeze, but
no breeze would come—what little wind there was being in the wrong
direction. We landed hungry as hawks, or any other animal of prey, and found
a very comfortable inn. Of course we were offered the usual ham and eggs,
but prevailed upon the landlady to give us fish instead. This place is like
the sweepings of creation. It is made up of irregular bits of land, all
jumbled about in a shallow sea—or of bits of sea running into the flat land
in all directions— so that to get to a place one mile in direct distance you
may have to walk five or six or even ten miles, if you can't get a boat. It
is a land of desolation and dreariness. Bare rocky hills form the eastern
coast, and from the foot of these the low undulating rocky and peaty land
stretches for some ten or twelve miles to the Atlantic. The land, as I have
said, is everywhere intersected by the sea, and sprinkled with innumerable
lakes and peaty tarns. Along the flat Atlantic coast there are dreary
stretches of blown yellow sands that form hills like those of Barry, near
Carnoustie. Near these are a few huts and a kirk and manse! Not a tree, not
even a bush higher than heather is anywhere to be seen—peat and rock and
water—water and rock and peat—that is North Uist. . . . I have been vastly
pleased with what I have seen, and will have a lot to tell geologists that
is new.

Cairnish, North Uist,
11th July 1877.

This place is still further
out of the world than Lochmaddy. We walked to it to-day accompanied by one
of the Inland Revenue officers, a very good intelligent fellow, who is quite
an antiquarian and takes an intelligent interest in geology. He knew of me
quite well and had read my "great work." The road lay for twelve miles
through bogs, morasses, rocks, and lakes, and passed over as dreary a
stretch of country as I ever set eyes on. The sky was cold grey, and the
wind too was none of the kindest. Here we found a wretched inn, where we
were waited on by a great hulking Heeland lassie with a back as broad as a
barn door, and bare feet which haven't been in a tub since the day she saw
the light of this weary world. She is shy, the dear creature, and has not
one word of English. When I ring for her with the bell that lies on the
table, she looks into the room with a grin on her face. I want salt, so I
take up a bit of the Australian meat and dab it on the side of the plate.
She twigs at once what I want, makes a guttural sound, and in half-an-hour
or so returns with a soap-dish full of dirty salt. However, she gives us
good scones and not bad tea, and strong peat-reekie whisky. The landlord has
been a soldier, I think, for he speaks of Hyderabad. Fancy a man coming from
the sunny plains of India to this fearful howling wilderness. It would make
a fine penal settlement. You see poor, ragged, dirty women bending under
their creels of peat, and men digging the mosses as for dear life. It is
hard living for them, poor devils. There is no shelter in the land, even the
heather is low and stunted, and the wind howls in from the Atlantic with a
long melancholy sough that is depressing in the extreme. No sportsman ever
comes here, for there is nothing to shoot. It is said that there are fine
trout in the lakes. It may be so; but the man who could fish such peaty
holes and feel happy in the occupation, could only be an escaped convict or
downright lunatic. The inn at Lochmaddy was snug, if the country was
miserable. Here everything is in keeping. . . . Most of the houses are mere
stone-and-mud huts with mud floors and heather roofs. Cattle enter them
freely and mingle with the family. I was amused with an old man who came up
to us and asked our friend the Inland Revenue man what we were doing. He
took us for drovers come to buy cattle. When he heard that we had come to
look at rocks and stones he said—"We were great fools, and must be very
idle, and light in the head." And indeed when I looked round the miserable
dreary wildnerness I was half inclined to agree with him. Who but a
geologist would ever think of visiting such a land. Well, it won't be my
fault if I ever revisit the place.

Loch Boisdale, 15th July 1877.

Some days have passed since I
last had an opportunity of writing to you. We have had much walking and no
time to write since we left Cairnish in South Uist. We started from Cairnish
about twelve o'clock on the nth in a broken-down gig with a one-eyed horse,
which was led or rather pulled along by a native named Angus Macrlougall. .
. . North Uist and Benbecula are separated by an arm of the sea which is
some five miles in breadth, but is so shallow that at low water it can be
forded. What a peculiar scene it was! A long stretch of mud-flats and
sand-banks broken here and there with reefs of tangle-covered rocks and low
green islets on which a few black cattle were grazing. Men and women were
busy cutting the tangle for kelp-burning, the smoke of the fires rising here
and there from various points of the dry land on the Benbecula coast. Heavy
drizzle wetted me through and through, and it was most cheerless. At the
opposite side of the ford we reached a little inn, as dirty and clarty as
all the inns are. We now got out of the trap to walk, as we wished to save
the poor horse as much as possible, for the weary tramp before us. At the
pace we went we calculated we should reach Loch Boisdale about two or three
in the morning. Benbecula is about eight or nine miles in length, and is
perhaps the dreariest bit of land I ever traversed. It is nothing but a big
peat-moss, with a lot of lakes or boggy holes running through it in all
directions. Indeed there is about as much water as land. Cultivation is a
mere parody, everything bespeaks poverty. The people are as usual haggard
and ill-clad, and dirty in the extreme. Things looked a little better as we
got near the shore at Creagorry. Here our friend Mr Carmichael met us and
took us into his house. . . It was pleasant to get into a real house
again and to sleep in a clean comfortable bed. Next morning we were up at
three o'clock in order to catch the early ford between Benbecula and South
Uist. . . . The ford between Benbecula and South Uist is not nearly so broad
as the North Ford, but it is deeper. We got across about half-past four, and
then I got out to walk so that I might make observations as I went along. It
rained heavily for the first six miles and then cleared off, so that I had
time to dry again. The road goes through much the same kind of scenery as
Benbecula, but there are fine mountains immediately to the left, and these
we gradually neared, and skirted the base of them for many miles. I saw so
much glacial geology that I did not feel in the least degree fatigued. ...
As we took our time by the way, stopping to look at this, that, and t'other
thing, it was nearly eight o'clock when we reached a place called Askernish
about six miles or so from Loch Boisdale. ... At five we set off again, and
loitering by the way to chat and smoke and do geology, we did not get into
Loch Boisdale until nine o'clock at night, having been out since four
o'clock in the morning. So off to bed somewhat fagged. Next morning we were
astir by six o'clock and set off in a boat for a sixteen-miles sail up the
east coast to Loch Eynort, intending to land there and climb Ben More, the
highest hill in South Uist. It was wet and cold, but we determined to go on.
The cliffs are wild and dreary, and fearful places to be wrecked upon, for
deep water runs up to the very rocks. We landed at a place where Prince
Charlie lay in hiding while the King's cruisers sailed past. It was a
picturesque spot. Wild bare mountains cleft by mountain-torrents surrounded
the small glen, down which leapt a noisy stream, on the bank of which were
one or two thatched cots. The shepherd came out and asked us to drink milk.
It was a picturesque interior that we were introduced to. There was the peat
fire in the centre, dogs, cocks and hens, cats, and a small pig crowded
round the fire, and the wife and lassies were bustling about. The
spinning-jenny stood in a corner. None of the women looked well. They were
all white and haggard. Carmichael told me afterwards that they wanted me to
prescribe for them, as they had imagined I was a medical man! Poor things! I
could not help thinking they were consumptive. Yet they all seemed happy
enough, and certainly though I have seen much poverty all through these
islands, yet I have not noticed any of that squalid misery which is so
common in our large towns. The people are poor, but they always have
something to eat. Their wardrobe can't cost much, for they make everything
themselves, and what they make seems to last half a lifetime. But to return
to the shepherd's house, we got our milk and after sitting for a while rose
to go. They are very polite these Highlanders, much more so than most
country folks in the mainland of Scotland. I was only sorry I could not
speak Gaelic, for few of them had more than one or two words of English. The
shepherd told us it had been a bad year for the sheep, but not so bad, he
thought, as it seems to have been on the mainland. We bade good-bye and
sailed into Loch Eynort at a wild part of the coast, where we landed and
dismissed the boatmen and boat. But mists hung heavy on all the hills, and
after much climbing we were compelled much against our will to give up all
hope of getting to the top of Ben More. However, we managed to see a good
deal, and then struck right across the mountain tract to the flat ground of
the east coast, along which we had walked the day before. Just before we got
down to the road, the mists cleared away, and the mountain-peak shone
brilliantly forth; but it was now too late to think of climbing Ben More. We
had been tramping over rock and bog and hill and dale for six hours, and we
had still some twelve miles to walk before reaching Loch Boisdale, and were
reluctantly obliged to abandon Ben More. But I was able nevertheless to make
out all the main geological points that were important—so that, after all,
we did not lose much. ... I shall be right glad when my face is homeward
turned. It is so wet and dismal it makes one dull whether he will or no. But
I have very much enjoyed my visit, and have gathered material for a great
geological paper, which will bring me much credit, I know.

The rest of the year 1877 was occupied with the
writing of the Hebrides paper, published in the following year, and in
various geological controversies, especially in regard to the superficial
deposits of Norfolk and Suffolk. These years at Perth were thus a period of
severe and productive work, for after long days in the field he would sit
and write far into the night. He kept himself also carefully abreast of all
recent work in his own subject, and with the help of grammars and
dictionaries, read in the original the papers of all his foreign confreres,
Norwegian, Danish, Swedish, etc. The Norwegian geologist, Dr Amund Helland,
afterwards professor at Christiania, it may be noted, paid a visit to the
house at Perth in 1877, and James Geikie and he became great friends. A
couple of years later they paid a visit together, an enjoyable and
profitable one, to the Faroe Islands.

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